The apartment is quiet when you walk in, except for the low murmur of a playlist humming through the speakers—one you didn’t put on, but recognize immediately. His playlist. Your playlist. Each song hand-picked with ridiculous care: a mix of soft ballads, acoustic K-pop B-sides, and some indie love songs that always make you think of rainy mornings and oversized sweaters.

The scent of something warm lingers in the air—probably the chai latte candle he lit just before you arrived. The living room glows in soft golden tones from fairy lights draped over the windows. You take one step in and already know he’s been waiting.

“Finally,” a familiar voice calls from the couch. “I was beginning to think you were ghosting me.” San peeks over the top of the blanket he’s cocooned himself in, his grin unmistakable even in the dim light.

You raise a brow. “It’s only been twenty minutes.”

“That’s basically emotional abandonment,” he says, sitting up and patting the seat next to him. “Come here. I’ll forgive you… if you let me put my head in your lap and you scratch behind my ear like a puppy.”

You try to hold back a laugh, but he’s already laying his head across your thighs before you agree, sighing contently like it’s the only place in the world he belongs.

His hair is slightly messy, still warm from the blanket. One of his sleeves is pushed halfway up his arm, exposing the soft curve of his wrist, and the oversized hoodie he’s wearing looks like it might actually be yours. He snuggles closer, arms loosely wrapped around your waist, cheek pressed against your thigh.

“Mmh,” he hums softly, eyes fluttering shut. “This is the good stuff. You, me, the playlist, and the candle that’s trying its best to smell like a hug.”

You begin to absentmindedly card your fingers through his hair. He relaxes further, completely pliant under your touch, like he could stay like this forever. The world outside could be loud, unpredictable, exhausting—but in here, it’s just the two of you. Breathing in sync. No pressure. No masks.